Like Falling Snow
by peachtree3
Summary: Holiday One-shots, that I posted every where else but
1. Chapter 1

**Like Falling Snow**

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**It's not Christmas, just forgot to post them on fanfic.**

**Summary: Cassian's and Nesta's first Solstice in Illyria **

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The snow fell in heaps across the icy landscapes, dipping each tree in frothy white. Cassian stared out the window and wondered if someone could be buried under it. Alive, but barely. Breathing steadily under the brush of winter.

When he was little, the thought of snow would leave him shivering. To a boy with no home and few clothes, winter was a promise of death. If the snow could bury him, erasing all evidence that he had ever existed, the memories could make sure Cassian never resurfaced.

He grasped his throat, feeling the suffocating cold years behind him. In an hour, this cabin would be nothing but a memory, gone with the bitter frost.

There was nothing left of that little boy; he had disappeared on winter wind along with Cassian's childhood. He could no longer call winter a punishment, either—not when he learned that family was a type of warmth. The pain of winter ebbing until only love was left behind.

They were waiting for him, no doubt. For him and the others, wherever in Velaris they were. Traditions were more important now. Differentiated only by the time and people they could never get back.

Cassian wished he could say he was excited, but the imminent dread followed him even after the snow had melted off his coat.

In the cabin, the fire roared. Sweet crackling that made him think of warm hot chocolate, spiced with chili peppers and dolloped with whipped cream. He imagined the townhouse in all its splendor, the fireplace they'd wait for him to decorate with garland and poinsettias.

The image warmed his heart, made his wings itch with need. He'd be surrounded by family and warmth and love. Not this house, encased in only snow and emptiness. With its barren walls and furniture that no more seemed welcoming than the doormat still wet from his boots.

But… she'd be here.

Waiting, maybe. Wondering where it all went—where even he had gone. If Cassian had even been there to begin with.

He sometimes wondered that, too. If he was there or if he was like the winter, himself, a silent passerby that brought nothing with him, but left a thousand different worries behind.

If Nesta was anything like him, she'd sit on the window's ledge, curl her knees to her chest, and look outside. He could almost imagine her fingers trailing along the glass, pretending the snowflakes she drew in the crystal would answer all the questions she didn't dare ask.

Cassian looked towards Nesta's door, hiding her behind the redwood.

Sometimes he'd hold himself back from knocking, as if the door would somehow open for him, suddenly. She'd be there—expecting him. She'd smile, he'd laugh, and everything would be different. So different that he could see it, like catching snowflakes in his hands.

Cassian never did let himself knock, his fading footsteps the only evidence he had been there at all.

Nesta rarely came out of that room and they'd been here for months now. Something about her enraged him enough not to care, simply because of the that gut-wrenching ache in his belly that only grew at the sight of her and festered when she refused to look at him.

If she was content to hide away, then he was content to leave her there, trapped in a world he'd long ago decided was trying to bury him alive.

Cassian had almost started to miss the way she clenched her fists in agony, any moment ready to hit or maim him. Her fiery temper rivaled only his own, and though she infuriated him to no end—even infuriated him now—he enjoyed their spats. Even looked forward to them on occasion.

Now, they barely spoke to each other.

It was the greatest form of dismissal that Nesta preferred the company of silence over him.

Really, It was probably what she wanted him to feel: worthless and aggravated.

He'd be loved in Velaris, and Nesta would be here, entertaining the dust and snow. It was the first thing she did once the winter came, writing Feyre that she would not and would never again go to one of their "exclusive inner circle functions."

If Cassian was being honest, he wasn't sure they wanted her to attend. Feyre and Elain, of course, but the rest of them…

She probably preferred it that way. Nesta wanted to be alone, preferred the silence, the books, the cold. Not the familial warmth that reminded him he was alive, but only seemed to burn her.

Her blatant exile would last far past Solstice, anyway. A fact both itched at his chest and liberated him from guilt. Nothing much would change past these three days. Nesta would still be the same person when he came back, with her anger so cold it itched like frostbite.

He felt bad for even thinking it, though. Nesta was just… easier to deal with when she wasn't there.

The trek back to Velaris would take him half of the day. He stretched his wings in preparation. Covering himself in his leathers and coat. He checked the firewood—made sure there was enough to last her. He checked the pantry, the locks, the roof, everything that could go wrong in the span of three days.

There was no chance of a storm, though a large snowfall was expected.

Everything Nesta needed was right here in this cabin, stocked, ready, and capable. She'd be okay, he promised. This is what she wants.

Stepping outside the cabin was harder than he'd expected, every step through snow grabbing at his legs. Cassian merely kicked it away and walked on. If he held his head in indignation or primped his wings stubbornly, he didn't acknowledge it—Ignored the part of his conscience that was wound around that redwood door, like it had tied a string around his heart.

Cassian was all too ready to dismiss her from his life, and from this Solstice, all together. To get the holiday over with and back to normal, back to steady silence and silent pleading.

The fear kept nagging, though, as silent as the snow. Cassian hoped nothing changed, that nothing ended up being worse than before, so much worse that it was irreparable. He'd freeze time if he could, just to stop things from rotting and withering away.

His thoughts kept him on the ground, until his wings couldn't take it any longer, feeling the freeing, brisk air—euphoria in clouds. Still, he waited and wondered, watched the little cabin get smaller and smaller.

Still, he wished.

It would be a great relief to see the sparkling rooftops of Velaris. His family, the laughter, the glistening sidra. To forget everything about her and that house.

It would be a great relief when Cassian couldn't feel the string pull any longer.

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Cassian didn't make it past the evergreens.

He was an idiot. For a multitude of reasons.

He was an idiot for not listening to her or to himself. A coward, for leaving her there. He had flown and flown and flown, and she was alone… just like he always felt, waiting to suffocate under the weight of snow that just kept falling.

He remembered the little boy who fought for the clothes on his back. The one who looked at his brother and wanted what he had, and instead of feeling remorse, beat him until his brother's clothes belonged to him. Refusing, not for one second, to believe that he could be swallowed whole by the earth without it feeling his kicking rage.

His anger had never been quiet… and neither was hers.

Cassian kicked open the door, lugging the monstrous pine through. The door, smaller than he ever noticed. The needles poked at his skin, and he refused, absolutely refused to let it damper any bit of Solstice spirit he would puke inside this house.

He was so busy, dragging the tree through the kitchen, muttering to himself in a fit of aggressive yuletide carols, he hadn't even the tea kettle whistling, or the pillows strewn across the floor.

Cassian stopped, completely and utterly wrecked at the sight of her.

Nesta stared at him, the color of winter in her gaze. She did not look away, and Cassian reminded himself, again, that he was an idiot. Not because he left, or… came back, but because she was here, and he couldn't even think about leaving her.

Cassian imagined this many times. Played it over and over as his soul enjoyed the flight, his heart wrestling with his mind. In his head she always looked angry, her eyes a thin layer of ice that he'd fall and drown in.

Instead she looked breathless… and surprised. And, the look made him smile softly at her, a breath of fresh air to the million minutes he was suffocating.

"I thought you were supposed to be in Velaris." Nesta said shockingly.

He expected to hear a tinge of anger at being disturbed; for seeing her relaxed and warm and normal. But the anger he knew roared in her, that he stoked along with fireplace, had perhaps been buried under inches of snow—along with his excuses.

Nesta was dressed more casually than he had ever seen her, wore merely an oversized sweater and leggings. Her fluffy socks peeking out beneath the checkered blanket she cradled close to her chest. There was a book on the coffee table, silently staring at both of them, waiting.

Cassian wondered why she hadn't already bolted.

Maybe she was just as surprised as he was… Or maybe she wanted this as much as he did. The thought, somehow, made him feel both warm and foolish.

"I was on my way to Velaris." Stupid. He was so, so stupid for thinking this was a good idea, "but I came back."

Nesta looked at him curiously, took in the whole of him, no doubt flushed by the cold wind, and ruffled by the tree. If she was any of the others, she would have already been laughing at his disarray, the way he tried not to fidget at her judgment.

But Nesta wasn't anything like the others, and maybe that's why nothing in his body could leave her. She was like him—even if she hated it. Even if he hated it sometimes. She could tear him up easily if she wanted to, knew his weaknesses like they were her own.

"Why?" Nesta asked softly, always questioning. Always curious.

Cassian wanted to tell her the whole story, to write it out like a novel she could read and dissect. Wanted to tell her that he had been waiting for her all this time, watched that door and hoped the knob would turn suddenly. That he wanted to talk with her but didn't want to be the reason she hated this world. That he was scared, and angry, and not okay in the slightest—and it was easier. So, so easy to pretend.

It was never easy to forget, however, and maybe that's why he was standing here. Still carrying the tree, he hadn't set down. The weight making his shoulder ache, and his hands just wanting to hold her, like some lovesick fool.

Cassian didn't know where to start this new game of theirs, a different kind than their raging words. Scarier, still.

He supposed, he'd start with the truth.

"It's Solstice. And, this year, I want to celebrate it in this house… with you." He finished lamely. His chest raced to catch up with his thoughts, his lungs suddenly out of breath. "If that's okay."

Nesta looked uncomfortable with the words, her own caught in her throat at the thought that he wouldn't leave. Things he knew she wanted to say, because he had seen that look many times, when he was too stubborn to let her win their many arguments.

"What about the others?" She asked convincingly. Cassian merely jostled the tree so that it laid more securely, dragging it past the snipe of cold and frostbite. He didn't take his gaze off of Nesta as he moved, entranced by the whole of her. Hoping to all heavens that she'd never stop talking.

"They can survive without me this year." The tree was heavy as he neared the window, the earth embracing the snow like two long-distant lovers. "Besides I sent the presents early, so they won't miss me too much."

She worried her lip in her teeth, her eyebrows furrowing in contemplation. He wondered if she did really prefer being alone to being with him. Cassian brushed over the ache before it could show on his face… or in his temper.

Cassian stood the tree up, near the window and the fireplace. When he was flying past, he sometimes saw her there, looking outside like she, too, wondered if winter was an enemy or a silent guardian.

Right now, it was easier to tell. Its watchful gaze reflecting Nesta's curiosity through the glass. He'd give her all the answers if only she asked.

But Cassian underestimated how large the tree was to the house, got lost in his impulsive need to come back like he had never left to begin with. The height reached past the ceiling, the tip bending to fit. It lugged side ways and he almost lost his grip, the tree swaying dangerously… and then steady.

He looked over at Nesta, surprised, her thin hands holding the other side. Even though she stared pointedly at the pine needles, she held on to it tightly. The almost-toppled tree a book laid open before her.

He'd seen that look before, too.

Her wide eyes only narrowed, when she couldn't ignore his stare any longer. Cassian wanted to sigh with relief that she wasn't angry or embarrassed or annoyed. Just waiting and willing, it seemed. The eyebrow she raised, told him enough, made him want to laugh, giddiness crawling up his chest.

"Can I ask why you cut a tree so large?"

Cassian grunted at the question, shifting it slightly to get to the bottom. Nesta held it sturdily, while he secured the base. When he came back up, she was still waiting patiently for his answer. He motioned with his hands to let go.

"Honestly," A good place to start. "It was the first one I saw on my way home, and it was large and… perfect." He held his arms out in admiration—exaltation. "So, this one it is."

The tree stood proudly, only slightly hitting the ceiling. It looked at them both, watched and waited for them to move or to speak. An audience to their little game, that would either have no winners or two.

Cassian wrung his hands, his palms sweaty and nervous and so unlike him, that he almost laughed at himself. Nesta played with her fingers, and he felt the need to grab them, to enclose them around his and hold tightly. As though, it would make him feel steady.

He smiled softly at the tilt of her head, her pale neck bare and bending to look at the tree. Its height much taller than her.

Cassian gestured towards it and moved to get the box of decorations in his room.

The lights and bulbs had sat silently in the back of his closet. He had bought them, when he had bought the cabin and never used them since. Cassian didn't asked himself why he bought them, didn't really want to answer a question he only asked in his dreams.

Nesta waited at the door, looking in, but never stepping over the threshold. The box was light in his arms as he made his way back to living room, Nesta following him even if she pretended, she'd rather be doing something else. Casually, walking behind him.

The tree was bare and so was the house, but not for long. Not when they had a box filled with color, and two people with time and a terrible need to use it.

His lips turned up slightly, smaller and then wider, and then small again. Stupid and comical. He shook his head internally. "Help me decorate?"

Cassian wanted to show her that there was nothing to be afraid of. Not with him, and definitely not with them, together. That this game was something they'd surely win, if only they could do this one thing.

Nesta's eyes searched his own, deciding what the cost would be. She went down the line of consequences, of future problems or regrets. Cassian hoped she'd choose him—for whatever it was worth, whatever the cost.

Cassian.

Instead of her quiet bedroom filled to the brim with books and blankets. Things that brought her more comfort and love than he ever had.

His wings widening out of habit, Cassian hoped like a child's solstice wish that she'd stay.

"Okay." She answered softly. Whole and steady like the tree. Waiting, and curious.

If Cassian didn't already have wings, he would have grown them, then. Her flushed cheeks revealing what her eyes could not. Like, the winter had brought in more than new snow.

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"Do you do this every year? Decorate the house in lights and greenery?"

The conversations had reached a steady humming of words. He was content, as her strong voice kept asking questions. Cassian answered them eagerly, rushing to fill her mind with wonder, before Nesta finally decided she had enough and stormed away. Gone, like she'd never been there to begin with.

"Of course." He picked up another string of lights, ready to hang them across the living room like they had done with the tree. "It's a Solstice tradition." His answer bright and cheerful.

Cassian didn't mention how he had done it last year, too. How he wished, just like her sisters did that she had helped pick colors or set mantles. How it was a family activity, and though she didn't want to be, she was family. Not just Feyre's family anymore… Though sometimes they didn't act like it much—a thought that made him ache at the regret a little more than just how her attitude had been.

Nesta gently lifted the red bulb in her hands, watching as it fit on the branch and hung with purpose and glee. She shrugged her shoulders casually, and Cassian marveled at the whole of her, at the strength it must have took to stay with him.

"It just seems like a lot of work."

"It is." He smiled widely, even wider at the look she gave him, like she didn't know where the old Cassian had gone and when he'd been replaced by this festive version, that didn't bite or pretend to. "When it's all done though, you'll see."

Nesta looked doubtful, but Cassian knew the wonders of Solstice, the wonders of not being alone. Every little light fulfilling a million different wishes. All of them intangible and twisted. Ready to unravel at the sight.

Indeed, when they finished, half the day had flown by. The sky changing as the box of decorations emptied. When it was dark enough, the sky a deeper shade of violet and the stars poking through, Cassian turned them all on.

The tree lit a beacon of hope across the living room. The arches covered in garlands and color looked straight out of a picture book.

Cassian had never seen this place look so… homely. Like he wanted to live here and love here and laugh here. Again, and again.

Nesta stared in awe at the lights. The backdrop of snow making the room ethereal—magical. He almost forgot that she hadn't gotten to see them properly. The last time not going as well as they all hoped or planned.

She encircled the room—slowly, taking in the colors. Cassian watched her as he was prone to do, like he always did even if he pretended otherwise. The slight upturn of her lips made his own raise involuntarily. His heart twisting as the blues and greens danced on her cream-colored sweater.

Nesta looked at him then, and he wondered how many time they had asked these wordless questions, when their own voices couldn't do their hearts justice. She watched him with the same awe she looked at the lights with, like the winter itself had surpassed every logic and it was snowing inside the house. Surrounding them with something new, bright, and alive.

"I have to go get something." He breathed, the words rushing out of his mouth, without a thought. She left him breathless and scrambling to put all the pieces back together that he ruined last year.

She blinked up at him, and Cassian wished he had kept his foot out of his mouth.

His heart raced, but the last shop was closing, a young shop owner all to ready to end the day, but who held onto a small box for him. A gift. One that he spent a whole day wading in the water for, after that disastrous first Solstice.

"It's not going to take long." He could barely grasp out the words, his own sentences fumbling in his search for his coat, his head. Where it had gone, he didn't know. Lost somewhere between Nesta's eyes and her pleasant smile. "Just— just stay here. Okay?"

He found his coat thrown haphazardly on the dining room table, remembered that Solstice didn't actually start until three days from now. They'd need food and cocoa and wood to keep the fire burning and bright.

He'd collect each item. Wrote them on the list in his head and added more when he looked at Nesta and her thin sweater. Blankets and a heavier coat for her… and gloves. So, they could go outside and… start a new tradition.

Just him and her, and the time he promised.

Cassian rushed to the door, a flurry of hard limbs and snow, but she grabbed his arm. Strong, steady, and warm.

"You're coming back," her face awash in reds and greens, "right?"

Cassian wanted to hold her close, so close she'd feel how fast his heart moved. He couldn't tell if he was out of breath or his chest had decided to combust. He wanted to hold her close, to take that haunted dip of her voice away, until he only heard peels of laughter that he'd heard quietly through the day—and those sweet, roaring insults he knew well.

But first the box, and then he'd show her why she'd never have to worry about that again. Never as long as they lived, even after the snow melted away.

He smiled at her, big and bright, grabbed her shoulders gently. Keeping a distance, to let her get used to him.

Cassian slowed his movements down. Nothing about her and him had to be rushed. He'd use all the time she gave him.

"I'll be right back."

Blue met hazel and Cassian understood why they took so long, why it would take longer and longer until she'd never doubt him again. But the light shown brighter in her eyes, and a chance lied between them. A chance he was going to plant firmly, like the evergreen. Standing proudly like a trophy they had both won.

When he came back, he'd bury them under blankets, and alive they'd be. Dancing under starlight and winter, reds and greens. Wrapped tenderly, sweetly protected by the light and their dreams. The warmth surrounding them like falling snow.

"I promise you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Wrapped in Silver**

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**Summary: Nesta gets sick on Solstice and pretends with all her might that she's not, family one-shot ft Caring Cassian and sick-emotional Nesta, Fic Request**

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The lights gleamed from storefront windows. Small stars lit above tabletops, shining on grins so wide she couldn't help but do the same.

Nesta looked through the window of a restaurant she passed, her own image staring back at her. Saw her flushed face and red nose kiss each person's cheek at the dinner table, long and ascending. Watched them pass the food to her and her to them, never doubting where she belonged.

She walked as her gaze lingered, trailing her fingers along that family's love. The image of little boys and girls sitting between parents, uncles, and aunts made her wish. Loved. All of them.

Nesta imagined herself surrounded by a chorus of conversations. The fire from the kitchens warming her body better than any coat.

She wouldn't have noticed her in the window either, if she was as cared for as they were.

Nesta turned to look back at the Sidra. The water frozen and immovable. Nesta watched as people skated on top of it, dancing with winter, itself. Captured in snowflakes and song. She wondered if it would feel like that, as if she were walking on water.

Another day when the city looked like this, dazzling and bright, maybe Cassian could take her. Nesta could almost see him leading her onto the ice. She'd squeeze his hand tightly—to keep her balance, she'd tell him. He'd smirk because he'd know it was a lie. And maybe it would snow, just like today, and they'd buy hot chocolate, spicy and dolloped with whipped cream, and take a walk along the bridge lit up and glowing.

She knew why they loved this place, knew why they protected it like treasure. The streets of Velaris were magical. Greens and golds and silver blues dancing with pale snow. She let her palms capture the waltz of snowflakes, the intricate patterns sitting on the dark fabric of her smell of bread and cinnamon wafted through half-open doorways. The frost nipped at her face. But the sounds, the smells, the sights made her feel alive.

People walked hand in hand along the cobblestoned streets, and children laughed as they played in the snow. It hadn't stopped snowing, since this morning, when Nesta swung a bag over her shoulder and perused each storefront with an intriguing eye.

Nesta took it all in, breathing the fresh winter air, almost walked right past the store tucked into the corner.

It always did look smaller on the outside, than what she found on the inside. The red brick welcoming her, even as her stomach churned. The doorbell jingled as her gaze trailing along the front sign.

Maven's & Mable's was a mess.

When Nesta had entered a few weeks back, she'd thought she saw more dust than things, more empty cloth than the furniture it covered. At first, she'd been spectacle, had looked at the store with disdain and a heavy need for a broom. She chided herself for being so snobby, even now.

Maven waved her over as she entered, bumping her hip into one of the tables. He was a curious sort of male, collecting everything and anything, though she could hardly tell in the mess. He owned the shop with his wife, Mable. Had owned it as long as Velaris had been marked and shielded. She tried to maintain her smile in her grimace.

"Hello, Miss Archeron. What can I do for you today?" He asked pleasantly, a chipper step to his voice Nesta had yet to master. She couldn't help but dance on her toes.

"Well…" She tapped her fingers on the counter, heard the click of her nails along the glass. "I hoped the shipment came today."

He pushed his glasses closer to his face, and the look her gave her made her apprehensive. "Ah."

He walked to the back, the shelves in such disarray she wondered how he found anything in them. It didn't stop him though, from coming back with a smile and a box in his hands.

"I think they can all be accounted for."

His grin was wide, as he set it on the counter, and opened the lid.

They were beautiful. Shimmering golds, metallic silvers, sands, and blues. Such pretty blues, Nesta could imagine the lands the paints came from, with seas so bright they could only be captured by color and a skilled artists hands.

She was lucky she knew such a fine artist.

Nesta shut the lid tightly, gently setting the worn box in her bag. Nothing some wrapping couldn't fix. She remembered passing a stand with such pretty silver ones. Maven simply nodded at the grateful look she gave him.

"A gift for our High lady, I presume. I hear her paintings could rival any of our most skilled." Nesta wondered how Feyre would feel about that comment. She almost imagined the way she'd roll her eyes and sweep it under the rug. Her sister never was the prideful sort.

"Yes, and you're shop was the only one who could get them here on time…" She shook her head, at her sudden jitters. "This year has to be perfect."

He merely smiled gently at her, like Nesta thought a grandfather might do, doting on his granddaughter. He had told her he had three of them. "I'm sure it will be."

She bid the male farewell and emphatic thanks, rushed to ask him to wish his wife well. The door bells rang sweetly, as the winter wind kissed her cheeks. She was by no means finished.

Nesta would spend the rest of the week finding every gift, dressing them in pretty paper, with as much as much Solstice cheer as she could drum up from her body. She'd be worried about everything else after each present was sitting beneath the tree. Not a minute before.

This year was going to be perfect.

For them and for her.

The townhouse was warm as she gathered the tinsel and wrapped it around the banister, directly parallel to the trail of red ribbon. Nesta had checked—four times.

The rest of the house looked just like it, a present all tied and waiting. All they were missing was the tree. Cassian, Feyre, Mor and Rhysand had volunteered excitedly. Nesta staying behind to help Elain with baking, in part because Cassian insisted and partially because Elain had looked at her so excitedly at spending time with her.

With a soft kiss to her forehead, Cassian promised to be back later in the evening. It was the right decision in the end, since the prospect of traversing through the forest only seemed to make her tired.

She wiped at her forehead, blowing the bangs from her face. The staircase wound down into the living room, and though Feyre decorated the townhouse to seem more homelier, the staircase yelled its opulence.

Nesta had only finished half of the railings by the time lunch was ready. She blamed it on her meticulousness, none of it seeming exactly right until it was set flawlessly. Though, the idea of climbing up the stairs again to finish the rest made her want to hold onto the rail and crumble into a ball at the bottom.

She did just that, crouching low, touching the red with her fingertips.

"Nesta, do you want to take a break?" Nuala asked. Nesta turned to face her, as she distantly heard the buzzer sound. She wondered how long it had been going off, before she noticed.

Cerridwen came down the stairs and stood next to her sister. She could hear Elain in the kitchen, the pans banging against granite countertops. She shook her head slightly in answer and tried to stand.

Nuala looked at her skeptically, as she hung to the railing. Nesta's gaze traveled to the half-finished decoration and wondered if they both thought ill of her for not having it done already… or Mother forbid, she did the whole thing wrong. Maybe, the tinsel wasn't supposed to go there, or the ribbon was the wrong color. Were there traditions? She didn't know.

It wasn't exactly her holiday, she didn't even want to do it. Nesta was trying for the sake of them. This was their day, anyways. What did she care about any of this?

It was just like the cookies she helped Elain with this morning. She forgot to set the timer, fell asleep before they were even finished. They were rushing to open the windows before she had even woke up, a smoke cloud hovering throughout the kitchen.

She sighed. What if she was doing this wrong?

Nesta was too afraid to ask. She could feel her temper flicker like a flame on a candle. Mother forbid she start crying.

"No—I… I'm okay. Is this okay?" They nodded to her enthusiastically, their eyes crinkling at her nervous ringing. Nesta pretended not to notice their cautious glances towards each other.

The look made something awful appear in the pit of her stomach, bury itself deep inside of her and jostle around. She was holding her mouth by the time the feeling sunk in.

Nesta just hoped they weren't acting this way because they didn't want her here.

Elain poked her head from behind the doorway, gesturing with her bright eyes to come. The sleeves of her dress pulled up to her forearms. The glances didn't stop as she made her way to the kitchen. Flour scattering on the counters like dusty snow.

She had taken off her coat this morning when they arrived, but the heat of the kitchen was sweltering. Nesta took off her sweater, thankful for the thin shirt she wore underneath and her planning skills. At least she wasn't totally out of it.

Elain laid out the sandwiches, the second batch of cookies cooling on the rack. "They should be here soon." She acknowledged, a sweet blush on her cheeks.

Nesta took a moment to look her over, glancing through the window of their lives. Her sister always did seem to fit in where ever she was placed, a perfect mold. A cookie cutter, though Nesta never judged her on that—just wished that it came as easy to her as it did Elain.

"Are you okay?"

Nesta blinked up at the question.

"What?"

Elain shook her head and gestured toward the table. "I called your name and you just looked at me sort of dazed."

"Oh." Nesta looked at the food and felt the feeling rise again. She grimaced as the thought of eating it, her appetite sitting drily on her tongue. Her eyes zeroed in on the trashcan near the stove. As long it was close, she'd be okay. She'd just have to do it discreetly, Elain had worked hard on this lunch for all of them.

"Nesta."

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta. She heard it over and over again, like she was drowning in distant memories and the words had plugged her ears. Only when she resurfaced did she realize she still hadn't moved to sit at the table. Elain grasping the back of the chair, her eyebrows furrowed, and her face withdrawn.

The room felt warmer, which had to be impossible since the window was still cracked open. She had barely made it to the table, when she grasped the counter top, coughing until she thought she could feel her lungs.

Elain held her as the air came and went, rubbing her back. Nesta felt Elain lay her hand on her forehead; her icy fingers cool against her flushed skin.

"Nesta, why don't you sit—"

Elain jumped at the booming footsteps. Nesta rushed to the door, as she heard them. Ran like she was a little girl again and her father had come back from one of his trips. She was always so excited to see him, jumping into his arms when affection didn't seem like a mask.

Her father would have loved this place—loved them all.

Cassian carried in the tree, Feyre cheering him on in the background. Her eyes were wide as she blinked back stars. Where a light ball of worry lifted, a gold gleaming bell settled in her chest. It rang at the sight of him, the song so lovely against the distant noise.

The tree may have been magnificent, deep green and full, but Cassian was something else to behold. His eyes carried a sheen of splendor, golden amber skies. Carefree and warm. His hair was pulled back into a beanie. Nesta wanted to take it off, run her hands through the dark curly locks, all ruffled and messy.

When he saw her, his face lit up. She couldn't imagine the Solstice tree with all its decorations could ever compare.

Nesta felt the cough come back up and swallowed it behind laughter. But nails scratched at her lungs, and she couldn't stop herself from hacking. Nesta grabbed the wall, leaning on it as her eyes dropped heavily.

She felt Cassian's hands on her skin, the tree lying on the floor, abandoned. She didn't even notice him dropping it.

Feyre craned her neck to see the fuss, still outside wearing her coat and gloves. The winter wind felt amazing, the door wide open so all she could see was winter's story. Nesta imagined the tales she would tell later about this day, when her sisters and her had finally gotten past their silent…war, became family with traditions and holidays and love.

Nesta pushed Cassian away, wanted to feel the touch of snow by herself, to be greeted by her sister's gleaming smile and her twinkling laughter.

As she moved, he followed; she wondered if she seemed odd to him that he looked at her like the others had. Cerridwen, Nuala, Elain, and now Cassian. She heard the laughter, though, outside where snow danced with wind and she wanted to feel it all. Wouldn't miss a part of it.

She unhooked her coat from the rack, ignored Cassian's soft grip on her arm, continuing forward. Winter called to her so lovingly.

"Sweetheart, I don't think—" She didn't hear the rest of his sentence, before she was swept up by flying snow.

Mor threw that one, and then Feyre back at her, and they laughed so sweetly. She wanted to laugh like them, wanted the snow to bloom along her skin like fresh poinsettias.

They gestured towards, Feyre grabbing her hand, running to the nearest mound—their castle, their lookout tower. Feyre grabbed the snow, packed it in between thick mittens, and threw cannonballs towards the enemy. At another pile where Mor and Rhys were surely hiding.

She felt the spirit burst in her, felt the ice whip across her face and sink into her knitted gloves, as she followed Feyre's wordless instructions. Feyre looked at her and laughed, smile so wide Nesta thought it might have been a dream. Where nothing bad had ever happened, and everything was perfect and beautiful and safe.

Nesta threw the snowballs until she could feel her arm tire and her body sink into to the ground. She watched as Feyre gestured for her to follow, quietly crawling to the center. A sneak attack, one she'd surely win. She'd protect all of them, like she so often did, like she had done since the very beginning.

Her eyes felt heavy, the snow falling on top of her, building snow castles where her body laid. Maybe her sister would always be the warrior, and Nesta would always be the one trapped in a tower she could never escape from.

Feyre laughed, wiping the snow off of her long coat. The whole ordeal didn't last long, but in that moment time didn't exist. Neither a high lady or a queen, she was just Feyre and an abundance of possibilities. She huffed out a breath, as Rhys put his arm around her. His body heat warming her more than the fire she could feel from the door.

Cassian pushed his way out, trampling his way past them. "Where's Nesta?"

Nesta? Nesta was there with her, and maybe that's why she had felt so alive. So, loved. That she was there with them, and it didn't feel forced or horrible. She was fighting alongside her, a bright sheen to her eyes Feyre had never seen before.

She hadn't even noticed Nesta was gone.

Feyre pushed Rhys away to run after him. The concern welling up inside of her. Cassian got to her first, she was lying next to their snow pile.

What Feyre didn't noticed then, she noticed now. Nesta's skin was red, she could see the sweat gathered at her sister's furrowed eyebrows. She turned towards Rhys, who looked as concerned as she felt.

"Call Madja! Now!"

Cassian picked Nesta up, her body limp in his arms, and Feyre saw the image again. The one she often saw in her nightmares, when the cauldron didn't let her sisters live, and they laid there dripping wet and lifeless.

Nesta was not lifeless, she could hear the strangled breaths coming out of her. Small coughs as her head lulled.

Cassian led her to his room—their room—and set her on the blankets. Surprising gentle for looking panicked and terrified.

She helped him tug off her jacket, her gloves. She wasn't wearing much underneath and Feyre wondered if Nesta had felt this way the whole day and no one had noticed. By the cauldron, this was not the first time they had seen her today.

Feyre crawled to the spot next to her on the bed and swiped her wet bangs away from her face. Elain rushed in with a tub and a towel, handing the latter to Feyre. She dabbed at her face, placed her hand where the cloth had been. She was burning up.

"Oh, Nesta…" Feyre whispered, her sister breathing quietly. The worry balling into a tight fist she couldn't release. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Feyre remembered the quiet, the fierce anger, the arguments, the disastrous camps and the consequences, the words she just didn't hear in Nesta's silent screams.

She couldn't help but wonder if maybe Nesta had told her, and just like all the times before, Feyre just didn't listen.

Madja told them it was just a bad case of fairy flu. She'd come back tomorrow to make sure it wasn't getting any worse. She gave him a blue bottle, told him to wake Nesta every few hours and give it to her. She'd need to finish the whole bottle today if it wasn't going to get any worse.

Cassian clenched the bottle at her words, the worry building in his chest like the crescendo of a Solstice carol. Every minute her eyes were closed, and the coughs wracked her body, made his own physically ache.

Half the day had passed, when she finally opened her eyes, just slits, like cracks on broken windows. Cassian rushed towards her and held up her head, bringing the blue bottle to her lips. When Nesta swallowed the worry ebbed only slightly. She coughed as he caressed her cheek.

"Hey, Nes." He whispered lovingly. "You had us all worried there. We had to call Madja in, she just said to give you this."

He set the bottle on the counter next to him, never taking his eyes off of her, as she stared at him blinking slowly. She'd need to sleep the sickness off, miss most of Solstice probably. The thought made a fist clamp around his heart and squeeze.

Nesta only nodded, her eyes drooping as she laid her head on the arm he rested on her pillow. He swiped the hair away from her face, matted from sweat. Her skin still feverish.

When he was sure she was sleep, Cassian looked around the room, empty and bare. He wished it had been different, wished for a million different things at once. He hated that it was going to be another year Nesta tallied in her mind—another wish that didn't come true.

He took another look at her and the blank room and decided. He'd make this room their Solstice.

Cassian, after tucking Nesta into the thick woven blankets, set out. For lights and flowers and pine. She'd have this tradition, at least.

He would never leave her.

The lights looked like sprites that danced with the flames of the fireplace, the crackling lulling into the soft laughter that he could hear outside the door. It meant little to him, as Nesta slept soundly atop his chest.

Her hair felt soft as his fingers ran through it. He'd have to wake her soon, even if he dreaded the thought, when she looked as peaceful as she did.

Nesta had woken up once before and had promptly held him close to her. She hadn't said a word, but he knew that look. He gulped, his throat dry and scratchy. She would never say it, but he felt it like a sword to his chest.

He held her closer, drawing little patterns on her back. "I love you, you know."

She had smiled up at him, eyes drifting as soon as she had found the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. She hadn't woken since. The sky having turned to soft oranges and violets, when he decided to pull the curtains back.

A soft knock on the door, made him raise his head slightly.

"Come in."

The knob turned slowly. Feyre and Elain appeared carrying a plate of food and cookies.

"We figured you could use some food, while you wait for Nesta to wake up." He gestured for them to enter, and they all but bounced in, happy to check on their sister.

The bed as it seemed, was large enough for all four of them… well as Feyre and Elain kneeled around Nesta.

"She looks sweet when she's sleeping." Feyre said, awe in her voice. Elain giggled, at that.

Their sister was a ferocity they could never control. A fireball of short-temperedness; Cassian was just relieved it was now mostly reserved for enemies. Her alliances deeply rooted in her family and their reciprocated love.

Nesta shifted slightly, and Cassian moved to accommodate her. Her eyes blinking drowsily. Her nose was still red, but her cheeks were now a blush rather than the red of the candy they had hung on the tree.

Feyre and Elain leaned to see her, Nesta craning her neck to see them.

"You're awake!" Elain exclaimed.

Cassian helped Nesta sit up along the headboard. Cassian moved off the bed, Feyre taking his place on Nesta's right.

Under different circumstances, he thought Nesta would have loved this. Being surrounded by them and their comforting hugs—even if Nesta pretended otherwise, she always wanted them near her, but never wanted to ask for it.

They fussed over her and Nesta stared back with disdain, wrinkling her nose at their concern. But her eyes were bright and he was happy to know many of Nesta's looks, though some—like now—hit him with such surprise.

He went to the nightstand and grasped the blue bottle. Feyre took it out of his hands, and he knew that look, too. Go away. He only smirked at it, and looked at Nesta, leaning her head on her sister's soldier. He rubbed his thumb on the soft skin of her hand, his fond smile saying more than his words ever could.

"I'm going to get you more tea. Some soup too, if you can stomach it." She nodded her head lightly, grasping his hand and squeezing it in hers. Her grip was strong, and that's what made the worry finally ebb into a dull throb. She was strong, alive, and fighting. Fighting with them, against enemies like fairy flu, or the ominous ones they could never be rid of forever.

They'd win because of her, because of them, together. Their love a sweet protection against any foe—even ones like doubt.

Nesta noticed the tree first, its reds and greens playing with Elain's hair and Feyre's eyes. So close to her that she could feel their bodies, warmer than the fire winking in the dim light. The silver presents nestled at the base.

"You know, Cassian decorated this whole place while you were asleep." Feyre quipped. Elain jumping in to follow.

"You should have seen him, he practically stole everything from the living room. Azriel and Mor kept making fun of him, for the festive monster he turned into."

They leaned their head on hers, their arms wrapping around her. She thanked the cauldron she was already flushed. "He turned into quite an irate bat at the sight of you sick, mothered you like a hen, too."

"Though, maybe we all did that." Feyre said, amused, playing with a lock of Nesta's hair. Nesta turned towards her voice, as Feyre turned her body to face her. "Next time, Nesta, we'll have a snowball fight when you're not sick."

Nesta still had the attitude to roll her eyes. "If others couldn't win when I was half-dead in the snow, they'll have no luck when I'm better."

Feyre laughed at that. "No, I'm sure they won't."

The conversation lulled. Feyre resuming her position at Nesta's side, adjusting the blanket so that she was covered. Nesta had never in her life been so coddled, but she found herself too weak to argue.

Nesta looked at the tree again, the presents simultaneously mocking her and cheering her on. She didn't know if it was the idea or the sickness that made her want to puke.

"You can open them if you want—the silver ones… They're for you and Elain." She gestured towards them, wringing her hands in her lap. "For Rhysand, Azriel, and Mor, too. And of course, one for Amren, though I guess she's probably with Varian right now."

There was even some for the twins, though she suspected they knew that already. She watched as Feyre and Elain looked towards each other, softly. Nesta wanted to sink back into the pillows and hide herself away in the mattress.

There was one for Cassian of course, but she'd give that to him later. When she could do it properly, and she could get emotional without feeling like she wanted to jump out of her skin.

Elain tugged at her hand, tugged her back into the room and out of her head. "I'll wait if you don't mind… So, we can open the presents together."

"Me too. Then you can open the presents we got you—we all got you." Feyre smiled at her, assuredly, and Nesta's heart tightened.

"You didn't have to get me anything." Her voice low, as if admitting it would somehow make it less true. Feyre simply squeezed her hand once more.

"Yes, we did." She was family, after all. They cared for her, too. Loved her even though sometimes she wondered why.

It was a testament to how sick Nesta felt, because she blinked back tears, her ears ringing as the day spun out of her control. "I just wanted everything to be perfect." Whispered words of truth ringing in their ears like the carols she could hear outside.

Her sisters cradled her closer, the concern back on their faces. "It is perfect."

"You know, It's not the same without you out there." Feyre pointed to the door. "Rhys and Mor won't stop belting out carols, and you know how bad they both are at singing." Nesta laughed at that, as a stray tear made it down her face. She did know.

She closed her eyes at the soft voices, the noise muffled by the door. Nesta felt the spoon touch her lips, as if she were some small sick child. It slid down her throat like honey.

Nesta was almost asleep when she heard her sister again. A quiet lullaby to her roaring thoughts and beyond, where sleep rocked her gently.

"It's perfect because you're here."

"How's Nesta doing?" Azriel asked, as Cassian made his way to the kitchen. The wet rag and mug cradled in his hands.

"She's a little upset." An understatement. Nesta had been mostly sleeping, and when she did wake, she was quiet. Thank the mother, her sisters had come in when they did. Her face lighting up at the comfort they brought her.

Mor walked up to both of them, Rhysand short behind. The only one missing was Amren, though probably not for long. Varian had only planned to stay, this year, until tomorrow.

Mor took the mug from him, setting it on the counter as she filled the kettle with water.

"She was looking forward to it this year, wasn't she?"

Cassian grabbed the pot of the table, filling it with the soup he had made yesterday, when they had all explained they had wanted something warm to eat.

"You don't know the half of it." He answered, stirring the soup as the kettle sputtered. He supposed she probably didn't want him to tell the others, though he wanted them to understand, too. It wasn't just supposed to be another Solstice. He swallowed as he continued.

"Nesta spent the last three weeks hounding me to fly her places or to ask you guys what you liked or wanted. I told her a million different stories about you all, until she felt she had enough information. She said she wanted to get the perfect presents… ones that she'd hoped meant something."

The townhouse was quiet as he spoke. He took great care not to look at them, not to give himself away at the strings in his chest that continued to knot and unravel and knot again. "Nesta said she'd have to try harder this year—to make up for all those other years. That this time she'd get it right."

Cassian took the pot of the stove, poured the soup into a bowl and hoped that Nesta would eat something. She hadn't all day.

When he looked back up, they were staring at him. Concern and something else written on their faces, something like contemplation and a little like love. He got angry all over again, that she couldn't see what she did to all of them. How much they cared.

"It makes me upset, too, that Nesta can't catch a break. She worked so hard—to be here, to get to this point. It isn't ever enough."

He grabbed the bowl, and the tea Mor had poured, set it on a tray, while Azriel placed the newly wet wash cloth on the wood. Next year, he'd spend every last minute making it the best Solstice of her life.

Cassian walked towards the room, the door shut tight but the occupants loving and warm.

"Oh, I almost forgot—" He gestured toward the bigger tree in the living room. "Nesta placed your presents under the tree. Silver paper. She said you guys could open them if you wanted."

Mor walked toward it, grabbing one and looking at it softly. She looked at him, before he even had the chance to open the door, like she still didn't believe that Nesta had done this. That she had cared so much for them.

Cassian could only lift the side of his mouth in answer. Perhaps, they had finally seen what he did. Nesta's heart was just sometimes too expressive for the words she couldn't say.

Two days passed before Nesta was well enough to get out of bed. Solstice had swiftly past them all by, her sister's birthday spent without her… again.

She changed out of her nightgown and into a new dress. Her hair shown lighter, the bath ridding her of the last of her sickness. She looked around the room, the decorations still ringing with joy.

Nesta supposed they should take the lights down now, and though it hurt, it only hurt a little.

Cassian had stayed with her. They played board games when she wasn't sleeping, and when she was, she was nestled in his arms, his body warming her comfortably to the chills that sometimes wracked her body. Of course, her sisters came in frequently, too. They laughed with her and kept her updated and included her even if she couldn't be out there with them.

They had made her feel so light, she was grateful that it had turned out pleasant. Well enough to last her until next year, where it probably wouldn't go as planned, but maybe didn't include her coughing up her lungs.

Nesta slipped out of the room before she could think anything more of it. It'd be better next year, she promised.

Feyre rushed towards her, grabbing her arm. Elain wasn't too far behind. They came at her like a whirlwind and Nesta had to brace herself for the way they looked: too spirited and definitely out of breath.

"Okay… Close your eyes." They blocked her path to the living room, and she looked at them curiously. Nesta shook her head.

"Why?"

Feyre spoke next. "Please. Just do it." She gave them on of her patented Nesta looks. "I promise you'll love it."

Nesta assented, her eyes drifting shut, as Elain held one arm, and Feyre grabbed the other. She could hear rustling in front of them. They didn't lead her far, just a few feet, where she could feel the carpet in the living room.

The air tasted like cinnamon, the air warm against her palms. "Now open."

The living room was still decorated, reds and greens and greenery. It wasn't that that surprised her, it was Cassian who stood near the dinner table, and gestured for her to follow. They were all seated around the table, and Cassian moved to open the chair for her. She looked around, and Amren was here today, even Nuala and Cerridwen sitting beside them all. She didn't think they ate this kind of food, but she was glad that they were there.

The table was filled to the edge. Turkey, ham, four different kinds of potatoes, and pie. Chocolate Mousse pie that sat in front of her chair—her favorite. She looked at all the food, suddenly starving, wanting nothing more than to dig in. Her gaze settled on all of them, noticed that they were watching her as she sat down.

She wrung her fingers at their looks, the light in their eyes friendlier than she had ever seen them. Cassian clasped his hands on her shoulder. "We couldn't have a Solstice feast without you… They wouldn't even let me eat any of the pie."

Nesta couldn't believe that was true. Cassian wouldn't dare eat her favorite dessert without her. He winked like he knew what she was thinking.

Mor titled her head at them, at her, and she hoped she wasn't going to ask anything she couldn't answer in front of them. She imagined her asking an array of questions, from why did you try so hard to why do you look so surprised. Nesta couldn't answer any of them, the words not even slightly what she'd want to say.

She raised a hand to the pie. "We had to make a new one, since someone…" She gestured toward Amren, who held her hands up in innocence, "decided to knock into the table this morning. Thank Mother that Nuala and Cerridwen still had the ingredients."

Feyre came and sat to her left, Rhysand sneaking glances at her from Feyre's other side. Nesta didn't know if she wanted to gush or grimace. Her sister was never shy of being affectionate. It was a part of her she loved.

"Can we eat? Or are we all going to sit here in silence?" Mor rolled her eyes at Amren's outburst, and Azriel merely took a knife from the center and started cutting the meat. Cassian sat next to her and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"When were finished, we'll open presents." He said, his smile wide and gracious as he looked at her wide eyes. "I have one for you… but I'm saving it for later—when were alone."

He kissed the side of her head, her eyes stinging as she grabbed his hand on the table and squeezed. Hoped beyond all reason that this wasn't something new, that she turned into a blubbering idiot every moment that she spent with these people. Her people. Her family.

"You didn't open them?" She asked Cassian, asked all of them.

Rhysand spoke first, scooping mashed potatoes onto Feyre's plate. "None." He looked towards her questioning gaze, and merely shrugged a shoulder. "Solstice will be there every year, but the people around us…we have to appreciate them while they're here."

He rolled his eyes and pointed the spoon towards Cassian. "Because some people, as you know, try so hard not to be here." Cassian merely lifted his glass, his eyes sparkling.

Nesta laughed with the rest of them, as Cassian piled food on to her plate. She ate with reverence, as they joked with her, told her stories. And, when they were finished, Rhysand and Mor once again sang carols—badly.

The presents stayed under the tree, blinking up at them with silver eyes, waiting and watching. They took their sweet time, enjoying the setting sun and the flickering lights of color.

Nesta didn't think about the presents at all. Solstice wasn't about the presents.

She sang with Mor and Rhysand, laughed with Feyre and Elain, danced with Cassian, as the snow fell outside.

The warmth of the fireplace seeped through her sweater, Cassian's arms woven around her from behind. Feyre and Elain kissed her cheek under the mistletoe. The room glowing in effervescent color.

It was perfect. All of it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Forget and Remember**

* * *

**Summary: Holidays don't always go as planned, especially when Cassian plans them.**

* * *

Looking at someone he loved was like drowning. Except the water didn't pull him under when the air didn't reach his lungs. Love was air.

When Cassian told this to Mor, all those years ago when things like battles and wars were just fairytales that were whispered to them at night, she had sat back amused. Contrary to his idea, if love was both water and air, than Mor imagined love to look a lot like summer. Her and another shapeless figure wading in the water, her hand grazing the other's, drifting along sea shores while the kelp touched their feet.

Cassian had never been in love then, so he couldn't rightfully argue that love was nothing like a calm beach, and everything like a wicked storm. Everything like anger and fury and rage, and the heat so all-consuming that there'd be nothing left of himself. He would be made and remade a thousand times.

As Nesta slept on, half of her back exposed by blue cotton, her breathing as deep as ocean waves. He thought maybe Mor was right. When she was like this, laid out and pliant, it was easy to forget what love even looked like when Nesta made the blushing seas seem trepid in comparison.

"Nesta." Whispers and kisses to the side of her neck. "Wake up, sweetheart."

Cassian breathed better around her. The smell of her lavender-scented hair intoxicating. He'd drown in her, before she ever realized he was dying.

He lightly grazed her spine with his fingertips, constellations adorning her skin. Made sweeping paths down her back, each notch on her spine swept into oblivion as the blanket moved down and down and down, and his lips went back up again. Never away for long.

"Get up." He sang in her ear. She groaned beneath him, shifting slightly and muttering curses. Nesta never did like waking up early. Or at all.

She hit the other side of the bed, a silent command as her head remained steadily in the pillow.

Cassian chanted her name into her skin. Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. Her mouth making such sweet sounds he almost forgot she was dangerous.

"Nesta, wake up." His tone edged in soft warning. "It's already 12:30."

Nesta turned to look at him. Not enough to conclude she was listening, just enough to show she was only listening, and didn't plan to do anything with his words. She stared at him innocently and he got lost in her eyes—thin-ice and precarious.

Cassian kissed every inch of the skin she exposed, swearing he was going to die in this very bed.

"No." Indignant, unafraid, and grumpy. Nesta really didn't like getting up in the morning—or afternoon as it was.

"Come on. I didn't think I wore you out that much." She grunted in reply. Remaining tightly woven into throw.

"Are you sure you're not going to get up?" He asked, a glint in his eyes as he placed one small swipe of a kiss on her neck. A taste. Nesta only looked at him with that spark of hers. Dangerous, Dangerous, Dangerous.

"No."

She left him with no choice. Cassian placed his hands on her side and pinched. Nesta squealed, turned over, and kicked at his massive body. Betrayed. She looked at him like an enemy. Cassian merely wiggled his fingers, tickling her as she squirmed in the bed.

Her laughter set his soul on fire—especially when they were accompanied by vicious words he only heard under different, but very similar circumstances.

"Stoooop." Nesta whined through the pain, her feet slamming into his. "Cassian!"

He stopped his lovely torture, as Nesta panted. Her chest moving violently.

"Are you going to get up now?"

She placed the pillow over her head and pulled the covers over her. Hiding herself away like sleeping winter. Pure rebellion.

Cassian pulled the blanket from her feet, and Nesta shrieked as she scrambled to fold her legs in.

"You fight dirty." She said, the sound muffled under her pillow. He kneeled over her, both arms on either side of her head.

"Well, get up."

He lifted the pillow off her face, revealed the blooming roses on her cheeks, the rumbled hair, the freckles. 12 of them scattered along her nose. Nesta was beautiful. Not like a garden, or a beach in the summer, but like a raging storm, pulling him under.

Cassian felt her hand along his neck, felt her pull him to her. Her lips soft and exploring, coaxing his to play nice. Kissing Nesta was being remade and unmade and remade again.

Her legs encircled his, and he felt himself falling into the mattress with Nesta on top of him. She pressed her lips to his neck, a mutual sign of seduction. He knew this ploy all too well.

"Are you distracting me?"

"Is it working?" He didn't let her stay on top for long, flipping them over, and once again settling himself atop her.

Their love was a battlefield. A push and pull, a kiss and bite. They'd never let the other win without a fight.

Her golden hair lay spread around her, an adorning halo to the perfection of her. Her eyes dazed, probably similar to his, their hearts beating in time to one another's. He brushed his lips along hers, felt the rise and fall of her chest against his, and when she was thoroughly distracted, he grasped the blankets around her.

Nesta never let him win.

She clasped the blanket in both of her hands as he pulled. Cassian growled in frustration and Nesta laughed, soft bells that remined him of war chimes. He let them go, but Nesta reached behind her towards the pillow.

Cassian ate feathers for that betrayal.

She sat up, soundly, giving him a stern look. "Is there an emergency?"

His wings, spread around him in combat, settled down as he blinked at her. "No."

"Are we training?"

He shook his head.

She looked out the window, the sun behind clouds. Grey and dusty, the precipice of unease and uncertainty. He knew the day was perfect for staying in, probably advised it, but… there were other things he planned.

Nesta, though, was having none of it. She grabbed the other pillow, and once again resumed her position under blankets and throw. A throne as much as anything else she proclaimed herself queen of.

"Come on!" He whined, literally whined. She gave him the finger.

Cassian sighed, letting the fury build just enough to make him a little crazy. He did enjoy playing with fire after all.

He picked her up, blankets and all, as she kicked and howled, and walked to the living room. Nesta mauled him, a hellcat roaring beneath untamable glory.

Cassian set her on the couch. She settled into it, compliant as she felt the warmth of him. He kissed her forehead, padding her hair away from her sleepy face.

Nesta kept her eyes closed as she leaned into him. "It's our anniversary, today."

She quickly opened them back up, searched his face for the lie. "No, it's not."

Nesta craned her neck to look at the calendar, sitting atop the fireplace. She shook her head to clear the fog. She remembered their anniversary. "Our anniversary is in May."

"Not that anniversary." He smiled at her confused look, tilting her head slightly to the side. "It's our Solstice anniversary. Every year, we end up spending the day together, just the two of us."

Cassian shrugged, slightly. "Whether it's planned or not. I figured we could just keep the tradition going."

Her eyebrows scrunched together, and he wanted to kiss her nose. Kiss everything, really.

"And we can't do that inside?" He could hear the whine, the note of annoyance, even if it was only a seed.

"No… I made plans." She'd love them.

Nesta blinked up at him, like he was a new person. As if she had just seen him for the first time and she was still deciding if she liked what she saw. "You did?"

"Don't look so surprised." He complained. "I take you on dates."

She looked at him skeptically. Cassian let her stare, ruffled his wings and spread them. He was not backing down, this was not a battle.

"So, come on. Get dressed!"

Nesta rolled her eyes but said nothing. Just sighed, and stood dejected, padding softly to the room once more.

If love was a storm, Nesta was a whirlwind. He'd have to be just as erratic to keep up.

Cassian had lived through many storms. Sometimes they came in the form of snow, little ice crystals that whipped at his face and stole food from Illyrian pantries. Sometimes they came in wars, hot blood splattering on his hands, staining his armor. His eyes turning red from memories and rage.

As the restaurant burst with sound, the waitresses running amuck, boisterous laughter permeating the restaurant like the smell of roast, storms came in the form of people. Ready to ruin him and everything he planned.

Usually he would be greeted in high praise and gratitude, instead he was surrounded by gossip and old news.

"There's a large snowfall expected."

"We haven't had one this large in 300 years."

"Reports say It's going to be even worse."

The owner, a small older women by the name of Leandra, welcomed him cautiously. The truth settling around them like deep frost, before she even said a word.

She didn't have to say anything. As her eyes widened, Cassian knew he was already fucked.

Nesta stood at his side casually—nonchalantly. Her hair adorned with golden trinkets, little pins of stars. She wore a dress the color of wine and blood. The red made her eyes even colder in comparison.

"We have a reservation."

Leandra flipped through several pages of the worn book sitting on the counter. Dropped her pen, picked it up, then dropped it again. She fiddled with the sleeve at her wrist as she tried not to look at him.

"Yes, I am terribly sorry."

Cassian gulped as Nesta set her arm on the counter, placing her hand under her chin. She watched him, bored, as Leandra continued.

"With all the new visitors in Velaris, and the upcoming storm, unfortunately all the tables are full." She gestured toward the many people who were now staring at them, listening. "We've opened our doors to as many as we can. Most inns are full for the week. It is almost Solstice after all."

Leandra visibly gulped as she looked towards the door again, took note of the way the sky seemed to darken with her luck. "We've had to decline most of our patrons today."

She wrung her hands as she said it, spoke so softly that Cassian wondered if he looked menacing enough to make her nervous. But of course, he remembered. Cassian was the commander of the Night Court's army. He almost forgot he was supposed to be revered.

"Under different circumstances this wouldn't have happened, and we sincerely apologize on behalf of everyone at Alder and Woolf."

"It's not your fault," Cassian heard himself say. Somewhere far from this restaurant, where Nesta didn't stare at him critically. Somewhere where his cheeks didn't burn. "You didn't tell a storm to rage."

He took a turn about the room, eyes each of the guests who looked at them concerned, and a little frightened.

"And of course, you're doing something very kind in letting everyone stay here today. I could never accept an apology for good work."

Her face visibly brightened at his words. Her grin making him feel better, if only for the fact that she didn't look at him so afraid.

"Suppose we'll come back another day." He continued, hiding his bitterness in the white of his teeth.

Cassian reached out for Nesta's hand, wanted to squeeze it tightly in his palm. To forget this had ever happened and move on to something good and fun for the both of them. Something that went according to plan.

"We'd be honored to have you both. Please come back some time soon."

Cassian bid their goodbyes and resisted the need to look at Nesta, too afraid of what expression he'd find on her face. He went down the list in his head. Crossed out dinner and added find dinner.

He had planned more than this. Everything wasn't completely ruined.

But the day only got worse.

When they were walking to another restaurant, most of them closed because of the storm, Cassian had stepped on Nesta's dress. She toppled onto the ground, her palms scraping against the cement. She had dusted them off and told him not to worry about it, but he could tell that she was pissed.

He was pissed with himself.

They could only find a bakery in the end, and they fed on the last few cakes in the shop. It wasn't dinner exactly, but it filled them enough for the rest of his itinerary.

He planned to take Nesta next to the river and place a gift in her hands. A rendition of their first Solstice, but different. Better.

Unfortunately, Cassian couldn't say that went well either. He slipped on ice while he was handing her the gift. A pretty box with a pale blue ribbon. It flew out of his hands and, like all magically disastrous things, landed in the sidra. Very familiar.

By the time, the sun had set, and they had walked to the theatre tired and just a little too hungry, Cassian had enough. This needed to work out. It was the only plan left.

When Nesta and him had become a thing, even if they didn't label it at first, he hoped to take her to see the symphony. Hoped that she'd somehow be convinced to love him by the music alone, that she'd find it as hypnotizing as he did.

Cassian never thought it would take him this many years to get her here. But, better late than never.

He looked around the expansive dome. Noted the emptiness.

Usually there were people holding the door open, fae waiting in lines or at the ticket booths. He'd drown in the chatter, the endless tone of voices that perforated the dome and echoed off the stone. Sometimes he'd hear a lost note drift in the air, as swift as an arrow to the heart. Now, nothing.

Just silence.

His heart dropped in his chest, and Cassian closed his eyes and waited. Took a step closer to the door and breathed. The world had gone cold. Grey. Still. The door menacing and evil.

Like the storm had just begun.

The fury came rushing back, built and built. Grew until he couldn't control it, or himself. So strong and tumultuous Cassian swore he had already died.

Love didn't think so.

Love came at him, winds of doubt whipping his hair, his fist pounding on the door in protection of his sanity. Love came at him with knives, cut his hope like rough diamonds, made him remember what he could never forget.

Love would drown him, bury him under snow long before the air could ever reach his lungs.

Love was not anger or fury or deceit, it was not leisurely or safe. Love was an eye. The whirlwind of a storm, at the center of insanity and decay. Eyes that were hazel and bright.

People were storms, but love was not.

Nesta learned a long time ago that while people could make wreckage, love swam in it.

"No, this can't happen." He banged on the double doors, his fists making hard cracks, as she watched him, unafraid. Love flourishing in the middle of chaos.

"The tickets were for 6, I swear it was for 6."

He looked at the wall as he spoke. She wondered if he was trying to convince the doors to open with every bang and word.

"It's 6:15, Cassian." Nesta heard herself say. Distant, as if she were miles away, floating in another land, another universe. "I don't think it would have mattered much anyways. Looks like they all went home."

She pointed to the poster, framed in gold and ice. Closed due to weather.

His voice echoed off the shadowed building. "This was for you, for us."

Nesta could hear magic through his voice, ringing bells of splendid wonder. She wondered if it was possible to know the music of his words without ever having heard the symphony.

"Just one Solstice."

Nesta knew what sadness felt like, had known it as well as anger. A constant companion, a friend. But seeing Cassian like this, his fists, his eyes, the trembling. Love was cruel.

"I just asked for one Solstice!" He kicked the trash in the corner, kicked up at the snow piled on the ground, like his misery. "Why can't we have it? Don't we deserve it? Is it not good enough?"

Cassian wings drooped, his hand clasped in permanent fists that landed on the door and settled. She imagined the weapons he'd hold in those fists, the enemies he'd look at with that gaze. Saw the way he looked towards the ground like he was praying.

"I'm sorry, Nes." He turned towards her slowly, bracing himself. "I just wanted this day to be perfect."

I love you always sounded different coming from Cassian's lips. Meant something different then eloquence engraved in snow. Nesta rarely said those words, herself, and not out of a lack of affection, but rather a confirmation that love already existed in a space beyond words.

Some place holier. More sacred.

Nesta thought she might forget what the words sounded like altogether. Thought she might forget it in the way he danced with the quiet, angry parts of her or whispered his love to things she could never call beautiful. She never needed words, scorned them really, for the way people hid behind them.

But Cassian's love was never hidden, it was as loud and tumultuous as a resounding symphony.

Cassian made her remember.

"It was supposed to be different."

Nesta reached out an arm towards him, let her hand tell him stories of her devotion as he clasped it tightly.

This meant nothing to her, not the dates, not the failed plans, not the gifts that were buried under trees or snow or the riverbed. Nesta cared nothing about them. They were not the embodiment of their love.

"Let's go home."

Home. Cassian was her home.

They walked past the sidra, walked across that very bridge he threw that little box what seemed like eons ago. They walked in silence as Cassian calmed, staring at the ice like he could see the truth beneath. She hoped it told him how beautiful he was, how magical he made her feel.

And when Nesta looked up again to stare at his face, alight with something she hoped to fix with hot chocolate and a warm fire, specks of white clung to his hair. Sprinkled dust around the city.

"It's—" She tilted her head back, the snowflakes raining on her body. She held her arms out to capture them, little dancing sprites waltzing to music Cassian made by his existence alone. "It's snowing."

"It always snows."

Nesta shook her head. "No." She couldn't resist the smile, the sadness from his face dissipating in the span of heartbeats. "It's not the same."

So many years had passed and still sometimes she wondered if it was just a dream that would melt along with the spring. But the winter always came back, like her emotions, her worries, her hope. And, Cassian never left. Even when she, herself, wanted to run.

Nesta breathed it in, smelled the crisp air. Her chest light, unburdened, free.

"What are you thinking about?"

Cassian. Beautiful and ethereal under the glow of starlight. She clasped her hand in his, just to feel him, to know exactly how real he was. His palm was warm, as she entwined their fingers, tied so tightly together she wondered if that's what their souls looked like—tied with red ribbons and silver wrapping. Presents under the tree.

He was different though, so, so different.

Their bond was not a present, but it was shaped like one. Nesta never wanted to unravel the ribbon, tied perfectly in a bow. Never wanted to open the box completely, lest she have nothing left.

Cassian always laughed when she took her time opening the gifts he got her, always itched to grab them from her and rip the paper right off. But she opened them slowly, half-amusement as he jostled with every moment she took.

The present was never as important as the way his eyes shined with excitement, or the amount of time he searched and searched for it, or the shreds of paper she'd find in the trash because he trying to wrap the gift just right, or all the stories he told trying to hide it from her.

Nesta, important and loved. So precious to him that he rushed to prove how precious she was. She'd smile at the giddiness, hide her soaring heart in her laughter, her tears in falling snow.

But he saw it, saw it all.

Their bond was not a present, but Cassian was a gift.

And, he made the world a gift. The air, magic and dust sprinkling around her, lifting her from the floor. Like the ground had never even existed. Like she had been born with wings.

Cassian took her silence as distraction. Nesta didn't notice as he bent over and packed the snow.

The ball hit her coat with precision, and she gasped at his boldness. His eyes smiled, his peals of laughter the sweet sound of carols.

Nesta would never let him get away with this. She scrambled to nearest pile snow, as he ran around her.

"You were distracted!" The clump sat cold in her hands. She aimed, fired, and the snow hit her target. Nesta couldn't contain the joy.

"Hey that's not fair. You aimed at my face." He had the audacity to look offended. "You love my face!"

"What, are you five?"

Her joy bubbled over and out of her mouth, she lifted her head towards the sky in wonder. When she fell back down to earth, his eyes the color of honey and spring, Nesta waited for his heart catch up. Wanted him to feel as light as she did.

Cassian grabbed her hand and ran, to their house presumably. He didn't make it too far.

His foot slid beneath him. He tried to right himself, pulling at the hand he held. They both landed on the ground, Cassian on top of her. The snow their feathered bed.

She could feel his heart race, their chests touching gently with every breath. The red of her dress matching the red of his tie. She had worn it for him—his favorite color.

Cassian placed his palm on the side of her face, rubbed his thumb on the red of her cheeks. His eyes glistening snow as he looked at her, their wordless conversations continuing with the upturn of his lips.

She was his gift, too

Nesta could feel his warm breath on her face, blooming petals turning her cheeks pink. He looked at her like she was the only one who existed.

She felt the elation well up inside of her and leak out of her eyelids.

"You're perfect." Her voice soft and firm against the packed snow. "So perfect to me."

He captured the tears with his thumb, traced them softly with his mouth and kissed them away. He pecked her nose as he beamed. "You've always been the best part of Solstice."

When Cassian's lips touched hers, she forgot how to breathe. Just a slight touch had her eyes closing. Nesta didn't notice, just felt him all around her. His warmth—his love melting the snow, itself.

"Cassian." A whisper, a promise. "I'm cold."

She eyed him, mischievously. The playfulness roaring back to life, asking if they could play somewhere else.

The look he gave her simmered with need, and Nesta traced his red lips with her own, let her mouth tell him stories. Entranced.

"You should warm me up."

In a flash, he was up. Lifting her from the ground, while her head spun from the movement and his lips.

The laughter came again, notes of honey and warmth, cradling them gently like his arms around her. He carried her all the way home, to the warmth of the living room, to their bed. Only separating to breathe, like they were dying for each other. So enraptured, they could never get enough.

Their love crackled with the fire, burned as he kissed her. Soft and slow and intoxicating. His lips making her forget and remember. Over and over again.


End file.
